


Aziraphale and Crowley in Ancient Rome I Guess

by H_W_Star



Category: Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF, Good Omens (TV)
Genre: I had to look up so many DATES for this damn, M/M, One-Shot, ancient...rome...au?, aziraphale and crowley in ancient rome, bc i did a shit job of explaining it, but they are?, cheers - Freeform, crowley is sick of cicero's no-verb SHIT, except they're not aziraphale and crowley?, except you wouldn't really know that, god/demigod aziraphale, god/demigod crowley, gotta have that historical accuracy tho amirite, it's fine, like i said this is gonna be an adventure, me too, sort of a plot?, the crossover ONE person asked for, they're fine, this is one heck of an adventure kids, you're gonna have to read it my guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 09:11:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19787797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/H_W_Star/pseuds/H_W_Star
Summary: My weird take on our favorite angel and demon in Ancient Rome. Never really thought I'd be writing a GO fic but here we are. This one's only for the brave of heart, because it fucks with the canon a LOT.





	Aziraphale and Crowley in Ancient Rome I Guess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lunarcrowley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarcrowley/gifts).



> Helloo  
> This fic was written as sort of a dump and all in one go so apologies if it's not spectacular; I just kind of wanted to get my ideas out and was focused more on that than anything else. I will get around to properly going over it at some point haha  
> I'm not really sure where I was going with this one-shot but if I figure it out and people like it, who knows--I might make it into something more??  
> Written for and inspired by dreadwolves  
> Thank you to all who stop by for a read of this mess, and hope you enjoy!

_Gods._

His head was going to explode. It would be Vesuvius all over again, except instead of lava and ash raining down upon everyone, it would be little bits of his brain. If Marcus Tullius Cicero uttered one more sentence absent a verb, he was genuinely going to stroll out into the road, and throw himself in front of chariot.

Cicero was a stupendous prosecutor; everyone knew that. Even he had to admit that the man had an uncanny knack for nailing people. Metaphorically, of course—he had no idea what the praetor did in the privacy of his own villa. However, for as good as Cicero was at winning cases, he was as egregiously averse to brevity. It may be the soul of wit, but he doubted Cicero had any of that, either.

There certainly wasn’t any room for humor right now, as Cicero was prosecuting in what was likely to be the biggest case of the year. Hades’ beard, the next ten years. It would probably be trailing the man far beyond even his eventual consulship. The praetor was presenting his speech—aptly titled _Pro Caelio_ —in defense of his former student, Marcus Caelius Rufus. It was a wonder Cicero even agreed to prosecute on the young man’s behalf, given how the boy betrayed him and all, but the logic behind it didn’t really matter, he supposed. Sure, Caelius was a prick. Everyone knew that, too. But it was apparent Cicero had bigger fish to fry than simply a rebellious student, as he was laying brutally into the accuser—an older woman with a stiff jaw and an air of thinly-veiled irritation. What on earth was her name? He had already forgotten. Regardless, according to her Caelius had done something, or poisoned someone or…murdered someone? He had forgotten that as well. He was too busy being bored to death by Cicero’s lengthy explanation since he actually proclaimed the crime. It was too bad he couldn’t actually die. 

He watched as the man, in true theatrical style, impersonated Clodia’s— _Clodia, yes!_ that was her name—ancestor, Appius Claudius Caecus, along with other members of her family, who were indeed highly distinguished. That was probably why he was doing it. As he listened to Cicero make more or less a fool of himself, his gaze wandered over to those watching. He saw the short hair and taut brow of Marcus Crassus, richest man in Rome and close friend of the praetor. He was also part of the defense. Crassus was hardly his favorite, and he looked rather uncomfortable being there, but then again the man always looked like that. Scanning the crowd a bit more his eyes fell upon a younger-looking man, made prominent by the outstanding anger written all over his face; although, he could not tell what about. His first clue, however, was the increasing narrowness of the young man’s brow every time anyone spoke out against the woman Clodia. A scorned lover, perhaps? Now that would make for an interesting case. He also noticed the man gripped a tablet tightly in one hand, which he would open to scribble furiously upon every few moments. Perhaps he was not only a lover scorned, but a poet as well. The two often went hand in hand.

Yet one man in particular stood out the most. He was tucked away within the crowd, but something about him caught his attention. He had plush pale hair—rather beautiful, he had to admit—and was dressed in a simple white toga. It no purple stripe, so he could not have been in any kind of terribly high-ranking office. But he guessed it was the man’s captivating bright blue eyes, ones that weren’t even looking at him but were strangely enchanting as they darted almost worriedly in cerulean flashes around the courtroom. Gods, he could just look at those baby blues all day. It certainly beat whatever the hell was going on in this case, and he had stopped caring a while ago. He almost—

“Aedile Corvus?” a voice spoke behind him, nearly scaring him out of his skin. Grimacing at the name—one which he chose for himself, because he believed it fitting, but he was slowly discovering the ridiculousness of it—he turned to see a man with dark eyes and even darker hair. A Greek. A Greek whom he knew. He groaned, inwardly—or at least he hoped. 

“Ah, Alexander. A pleasure.” He was sure his tone implied the direct opposite, but admittedly he didn’t much care.

“What in the name of Jupiter’s mighty cock are you doing here?” the man exclaimed, one which the aedile found completely unnecessary but did not know how to address. So he took the obvious route.

“Well,” he said, in a tone that came out as a slight slur, and he made sure to sway, “attending the trial, just like everybody else.”

A wide grin spread across the man’s face. “You absolute scoundrel, you needed wine just to get through, eh?”

He choked out a laugh. “Yep, that’s me. Corvus: the absolute scoundrel of Rome.”

The Greek simply clapped him on the back, hard enough to actually make him stumble forward a little, and walked away. As he regained his stature, he looked up into the bright blue gaze of the man he was staring at before.

“Jupiter’s cock!” he burst out, simply because he was surprised and because that was the most recent exclamation on his mind. The other man blinked several times, quite clearly surprised at such an outburst.

“Ah, sorry…” he managed, and cleared his throat. “What are you doing here?” He said it as if the two knew each other, and for some strange reason he almost felt like they did, a little bit, and it was clear the shorter man was confused.

“Do you know me?” he asked.

“No.” he replied, simply. “Do you know me?”

“No.” The other man said this in an almost offended tone. 

“Well, we can fix that.” Once more, the light-haired man looked confused, so he waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Forget that. My name is Lucius Corvus.” He stuck out his hand, and the other man took it.

“Pleased to meet you. I am Quintus Misericors Lenitus.”

“A pleasure.” And this time, he actually meant it. Though there was still the matter of what-on-earth-was-going-on to be addressed.

“So, what are you doing here?” he asked again. The man—Lenitus—looked down, almost in embarrassment.

“I…well, I don’t know. I just feel like I needed to talk to you.”

“I…see,” he said, slowly, definitely not seeing at all. After a moment, he continued, “Well, how about this: we go somewhere to chat and figure exactly that out. First Falernian is on me.”

“Falernian?” Lenitus repeated, almost in wonderment.

He nodded, momentarily distracted by the childlike glee on the shorter’s face. Perhaps the man had a palate for fine wines or something.

“Mm-hm. Let’s go, I’d rather not waste another moment that could be spent drinking. Where’s the nearest inn?”

The other man pointed vaguely down the road, and as he promised Corvus didn’t waste any time in taking him by the hand and rocketing in (relatively) the same direction. The shorter man let out a yelp in surprise, certainly not expecting that of all things to happen, and gave his best attempt at protest.

“Corvus!” he shouted, although upon deaf ears. “Goodness, my dear man, slow down! You’re going at too fast a pace for me!”

“Sorry, _amatus,_ you’re going to have to enjoy the ride!” And with that, the two had designed a partnership without even knowing it.


End file.
